5 Essentials Found On My Desk

There are quite a few things I think I need in order to work well and efficiently. Though... possibly the efficiency could be called into question.

Either way, I want to share five things you will always find on my desk in excess. Because I need them, people. I NEED them.

1. Pens, pens, and more pens!

Pens are essential to my very nerdy way of life. Why? Because I write a lot of things down. And when I say a lot, I mean a LOT.
Sure, computers with word processors make life a whole lot easier. But there is something almost therapeutic about putting a pen to paper. I also find that I remember things a lot better when I actually physically write them down than when I type them up. I am a kinesthetic learner as well as a visual one, so when I combine the seeing of the words with the actual forming of the words on the page by my hand, I am can regurgitate the information nearly word-for-word later. I also keep half a dozen of these bad boys in my purse, because I never know when I or someone else may need one.

2. Lots and lots of note pads.

Because my life isn't always efficient and it gets very messy sometimes. I often have my life scattered around my apartment and mixed up with my sister's. There is no clear-cut, completely organized part of my life. ... Except my bookshelves. Because I am obsessive about my books.

But if you step into my room you will realize two things: a. I have at least half a dozen projects I am working on, some of which involve writing. b. I do not have time for all of these projects, let alone time to organize all of them. You will discover that I have two or three very well organized, while the rest will be scattered about in piles on the floor and the desk. Usually they involve a good number of books that I am reading and/or studying.

So I have a lot of note pads because note pads keep me from losing my mind. Anything I have to remember (which is quite a bit on any given day), and that I might forget (which is just about everything that is important on any given day), I scribble down on a notepad. I also have a calendar on my phone that I use quite frequently. But for grocery lists and to-do lists, I have my trusty note pads.

3. Notebooks.

These are not the same as note pads. Note pads keep my life organized. Notebooks keep my projects organized. They are the organization that needs to happen within the organization, if you will. And yes, I don't keep them as well as I should. I have at least a decade's worth of notebooks stashed in my desk, and I pull them out whenever I'm feeling particularly nostalgic. Or if ever I want a good laugh, because reading my ten-year-old self's work is pretty hilarious, and not because she was particularly good at writing.

4. At least one mug.

Usually there's more than one at a given time (at this point you all are probably wondering, "how big is this girl's desk?"), and usually at least one of them is filled with tea. My happy place is my desk, and an essential part of making my happy place happy is the consumption of tea by me. Any time. All the time. Because. Tea.
I also have several boxes of tea stashed in random nooks and corners of my desk, in case of emergencies (people, it's not that big of a desk, I promise!).

5. Books.

I have them on my desk, under my desk, on the little slide-out calendar-holder (no, I don't put a calendar on it. Who needs calendars anyways? They just take up unnecessary space for, y'know, BOOKS). I have books I'm studying for, well, whatever I am studying at the moment (right now it's counseling), I have books friends have given me that are old and wonderful and I want around simply because they make me happy. I have books that I am reading for personal devotions, and books that I am reading just for fun. I read. A LOT. And before you question my definition of "a lot", let me clarify: Reading six books at the same time is normal for me. Right now I'm averaging eight. And no, I don't understand that whole "one at a time" thing - I never really figured it out and it seems awfully dull for my hyperactive mind. But that is just how my brain works. I sometimes envy those who can sit down and read one book at a time, because it is so very orderly and methodical. I try to be orderly and methodical, and then I look at my shelves and all the beautiful books I could be reading...

And "orderly" is thrown out the window.

Well, there you have it! These five must-haves for my desk are what make it an efficient workspace for me. What are your five things that you must have on your desk?

Down a Dark Alleyway

This is the first attempt for me publishing anything remotely fictional on this blog (unless you count the hyperbolic retellings of my life that have happened more than once). It is a one-shot piece that I thought up while walking down the alleyway that connects the building I work in to one of the parking lots (hence the title). I was very tired and so in a very thoughtful mood, and so that is where this came from. 

My forehead was damp and my hair felt hot to the touch. It was going to be another blistering day under the Oklahoma sun. There was not a cloud in the sky, and it looked like the day was going to be beautiful. Beautiful and deadly. I was very thankful for the water bottle I had packed that morning and for the cool, air-conditioned basement that waited for me on the other side of the alley. 

This alley lay tucked between two buildings. A large, sprawling lot spread out behind these buildings, and already it was filled with cars. One building was a doctor's office; the other a hospice-care facility. Across the street lay the hospital. Funny how all the medical facilities seemed to gather on the same block. In each building you discovered the decay and death of humanity. In the hospital, I knew, I found myself practically surrounded by this humanity; the weak, the sick, the dying, and the grieving. They all gathered there, and I saw all of them as I walked those long, chilly halls. I saw the family gathered in the waiting rooms. Some sat with their hands clasped together, staring into nothing, as they waited for news of their loved ones. Others gathered in tight clumps and whispered the terrible news to each other, always in hushed tones as if saying anything above a whisper would cause the worst to happen. There were also those who had been there day after day, week after week, and the waiting room was so familiar that they felt no need for reverent whispers. Their loved ones remained unchanged, and so they no longer openly feared what was to come. Instead they hid their fear under jokes and loud laughter. Then there were those who knew the worst was about to happen, who had seen the doctor and watched him shake his head over their loved one's condition. These stood weeping, holding one another's hands, and praying. They could do nothing else, and in their empty brokenness they ran to the only Being they knew could. Sometimes they gathered in the room of their dying friend and sang hymns, sometimes they prayed loudly in the halls. These were beautiful sights. 

I picked up my pace, eager to begin the long day ahead, and mounted the steps leading down from the lot into the alleyway. The steps were crooked and uneven. The fence surrounding the alleyway was torn in places; jagged chain-link fence gaped at me on one side, a forbidding brick wall loomed on the other. I bounced down the steps - I always bounce down stairs - and as I did I noticed a piece of cast-off trash strewn next to the brick wall. I wondered how it had gotten there. Perhaps a loiterer had tossed it there while taking a smoke. Perhaps it had blown across town and come to rest there. Perhaps it had been tossed and buffeted by the wind for many miles before stopping to rest next to the somber brick wall. What was the story behind that piece of trash, I wondered?

If it could speak, what kinds of things would it say to me? Who was the one to have tossed it aside, and what kind of life did they live?

And are we not all like so many pieces of trash? I wondered. We are tossed and buffeted by the winds of life, until we are left to rest in an alleyway. Is there more to this life than the mere chance of a gust of wind? Or are we abandoned to drift and float in this world on our own? There had to be more to life than mere chance and happenstance. As I thought back to every encounter, every conversation I had ever had, I descended into the cold depths of the hospital to begin my day. 

I emerged later after my shift. The sun had slipped away a long time ago and it was very dark out. I walked with my coworker back through that alleyway, now dark and forbidding. As we walked by, the lamps flickered on, sensing our movement in the darkness and lighting the alleyway.  Curious, I glanced over for a moment at the corner where the piece of trash had been lodged. It was no longer there. It had rested in that corner for a moment and then was gone. 
How like us, I pondered. We are here but for a moment, and then we fly away and are gone. Yes, there must be more to us than this moment. We blink, and our lives are changed. Yet we continue to blink, until we step out of this moment and are ushered into eternity.

Five Reasons Why I Think my Father is the Best

It has been quite some time since I have updated. I am very sorry for this. My life for the past month has been a series of ups and downs and all sorts of crazy in-betweens. Today I am not going to worry about that. Today I am writing about a very important person; a person whose presence has helped to shape who I am today and what I value and love. Today I want to tell you five things you should know about my Papa.

Please excuse the extremely snarky title. I think quite a few daughters think this about their father at one point in their lives. I still think this about mine, and today I will share with you why I do:

1. He sets the standard. 

Whether it is working hard, knowing history, loving Jesus, or being a father, Papa sets the standard. Before I continue, let me just say he isn't perfect, and he will be the first one to tell you that. But when it comes to being a man, a father, a lover of Jesus, a servant, and a worker, he has always set the bar for me. Early on I saw his deep love for God's Word and for those around him; a love that caused him to daily pour out his time, energy, and resources for their good. There were many times he would come home tired from the office, spent from a long day at work, and yet he still picked up the phone for his students and patiently gave them counsel and help with their work. Yet he would strive daily to lead, love, and disciple his family.
 We had so many students over to house for Bible studies and holidays, and I remember how my parents both opened their arms and their hearts to welcome them in, to love them and serve them in a Christlike way. 

He still does this with so many that he encounters.

Papa also has shown me what true humility and submission to the Bible looks like. Because my parents are both sinners in need of grace, there have been times when they have sinned against us and against each other. Yet both are quick to acknowledge their sin and seek forgiveness and reconciliation. I remember many times, as a young teenager, my parents both coming to us and seeking our forgiveness for their sin. Papa has always spoken very candidly about his sin and his need for Christ's righteousness. His ability to do so has resonated into my own life and has helped to show me my own need to be so humbly transparent about my weaknesses and to promote Christ's work in my life.

Papa is the standard for the men in my life. Every time I have become friends with a guy, even with casual friendships, I subconsciously compare them to him. I judge their actions, their faithfulness to God and to others, their work ethic, their intelligence based off of this standard. Perhaps that isn't very fair. After all, he is much older, wiser, and more experienced than most of them. Yet the comparison is still there, and still I have not met anyone who quite measures up to that standard... yet.

2. He loves teaching.

Everything to Papa is a lesson. A random question asked at the dinner table turns into a lesson. Whether it is someone really seeking help and guidance on an issue or simply making conversation, Papa is quick to take the conversation to the next level, analyze the question and the individual asking it, and turn the conversation into a learning experience. He is in his element in front of a whiteboard. 

He has on more than one occasion skillfully turned the emotional rollercoaster of a teenage girl into a lesson she will carry for the rest of her life.

3. And history. 

Papa has shelves and shelves of history books, and he has read nearly all of them. In fact, he is the one who instilled the love of history in me. He gave me the first historical book I read for fun when I was fifteen. I've been hooked ever since. For my nineteenth birthday the two of us dragged Mom to the theater to watch Lincoln. We spent the rest of the evening over dinner discussing the movie and the social-political ramifications that period had (shout-out to my Mom, who had enough patience and love to sit through an entire evening of us geeking out over the Civil War). I love that Papa loves history and that he was able to pass that love on to me. 

4. ...And a good theological discussion.

Papa loves to discuss the Bible. His ability to comprehend and articulate the Bible never ceases to amaze me. I have seen him engage in many a theological discussion. Always he is careful to thoroughly understand the other person's position, whether he agrees with it or not. When the discussion turns debate, he is always at the forefront and (I'm still working on this one) is able to weave Scripture throughout his argument in a very effective manner. Yet, with each discussion I have witnessed, his humility and graciousness towards the other person is apparent. Even as he seeks to call their position into question, he still treats them with respect and grace.
In this way Papa has shown me, not only how to have a good theological discussion, but that sometimes loving your neighbor is more important than winning the argument.

5. He shows us Jesus

Papa always points me back to Jesus. Through his words and his actions he directs my focus back to our Savior. He is quick to bring the Gospel into just about every situation. He and my mom both were the first to talk about the love of God and the hope of the resurrection in Christ when we faced the devastating loss of my brother. I remember quite clearly, the night when we received the news and rushed to be with them, his eyes, filled with tears, yet desperately hopeful as he hugged each of us and said, "he is risen!" I remember the pain and the loneliness I watched him and my mom both go through, and yet he held onto that hope. A year later - a long, painful, dark year later - and still he was quick to speak the light of the Gospel into our loss. A year later we sat around on the anniversary of Ben's death, and we all were able to testify to the faithfulness of God and the life we had in Christ. Papa was the first to draw our attention to it, and he continues to do so daily.

I love my father. He has taught me so much through the years. But the most important thing that he has taught me is to know my heavenly Father, to follow after Him, and to love and serve Him faithfully. My love and respect for my father has grown because through it I have learned the love and care of my heavenly Father. 


As you can see, I love both of my parents very much and I hold them in the highest respect. Papa would not be who he is without Mom, and Mom would not be who she is without Papa. It seems like I cannot speak about one without thinking about the other. Many of these characteristics I have mentioned about Papa I have seen in Mom as well. I am so very thankful to have two godly, loving parents who have faithfully preached the Gospel to us throughout the years, and who continue to live it out in their daily lives. I am a very poor student, but I am extremely grateful for all that I have learned from them through the years (sometimes lessons that literally took years). 

Happy Father's Day, Papa! Thank you for faithfully loving and caring for me, in spite of the little I have done to deserve it.